


Because She's Miraculous

by jenni3penny



Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 16:51:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10391415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/pseuds/jenni3penny
Summary: “I like your voice in my ear. I like having you, you specifically, read my copy. I like your office being close to mine instead of floors away. And I don't like Jim's habit of being a mouth breather.” Post-series. Spoilers for season three.





	

Charlie Skinner, in his ever infinite and Bourbon soaked wisdom, had left them with one extraordinarily large and impressive pile of bullshit paperwork to sort through after his death. Because it had been an unconsciously tacit (and entirely _silent_ ) agreement between the two of them that _he_ be the one to clean out the newsman's area despite the fact that _she_ was the one taking over the spacious office for herself. Though, not once in all the time she'd spent arguing against using Skinner's office had she mentioned either one of them touching the other man's things. She just hadn't brought up the fact that someone was going to have to pack his things up and away, neither of them had. But when he'd started wordlessly collecting boxes from throughout the office she'd added two empty ones before pretending to fix a non-existent wrinkle in his shirt and avoiding his eyes because hers were sad. She knew exactly how much he hated to see her looking sad so she didn't flaunt it. She wordlessly fussed at him instead, being sweetly prim as she stroked lightly down his chest to unnecessarily right his clothing and press silent support against him at once. Then he'd carried that stalwart strength of hers with him as he'd started packing up his best friend's things.

At some point, though, it'd become too monumental a task, even for him. Maybe something too big for so very soon, too much and too fast. Because he found himself walled in by books, notebooks and notepads, stacks of paperwork, files, of scraps of things. A mote of Charlie, surrounding him and haunting at once. He'd ended up leaned sunken against the lower wall, forearms rested against upright knees and his head unconsciously shaking back and forth while he stared at a model of a boat. If he'd had the time and the patience (the energy itself) he figured he could probably map the visual timeline of Charlie's entire career with the surrounding ephemera. He could mentally map half of it already, no props necessary. Will was leaned forward, face in his hands and pressing the pads of his fingers into closed and tired eyes when he heard the sound of her heels approaching. And, God, he knew it was her. He could pin the presence of MacKenzie McHale like a sharpshooter sighting in his target. He'd told her that she owned him but, fuck, he could deftly pick out the sound and smell and perfection of her whenever she was near.

He popped one eye open as she came into the room, watching her lean back hips first against the door as she shut it. There was a thick bottomed tumbler of something delicious looking in her right hand and her head tipped long to the left as she studied the way he'd lanked himself out onto the floor. Will dropped his hands down against his thighs, knees still bent up even as he stretched his legs a little farther out between the piles of papers. A cute little puff of air passed her lips before she launched herself lightly off the door and in his direction. He watched her approach just to appreciate the very existence of her. Fuck, she was sexy. And maybe more so pregnant? Maybe not. Maybe it was just the sight of her in a gloriously fitted pencil skirt and carrying what promised to be some excellent liquor.

He nodded toward the drink in her hand and blinked. “That'd better not be yours.”

Mac just dexterously ignored him and navigated the piles of paperwork at once, one eyebrow lifting and her lips pursing up as she got closer. The toe of one designer heel bumped against his shin so that he spread his feet farther apart. The assurance in the way she stepped in between his feet was made up of equal parts confidence, audacity, and loving. “I think it utterly unfair that there's a pile of papers specifically set aside - ”

“Mac.” Will just snorted quietly after the interruption, lifting a lazy hand to accept the Scotch on the rocks she was hovering over him by two fingers.

His head sank back against the wall, shoulders going looser as he studied her from toe to the top, then back downward to her lips. He studied her mouth and the perfect lines of her lips as he took a swallow from the chilled glass. A smirk nearly twitched itself all across her mouth and he half smiled in response to it, tiredly but with genuine bemusement. A groan came up from around his lungs, rattled slowly up his throat, and even he wasn't sure if it was because the drink was smoked and smooth or because she was smoother, smokier and warmer.

He wanted her, that was all. Wanted her physically, emotionally, conceptually and more.

More than anything, more than a cigarette or a drink, more than he wanted Charlie back (in generalities, of course – that one was almost debatable).

He just wanted her, had wanted her, for-fucking-ever.

Charlie'd damn well known it too. Bow-tied-puppet-master, fucking around with hearts and probably laughing at them all from Heaven's (Hell's?) version of the Algonquin Round Table.

“Just so that you can hide them from me.” Mac continued with feigned annoyance, accepting the way he lifted one hand for one of hers. “It's absolutely outrageous. _And_ egregious. The two of you - ”

“ _Mac_.” He dug their hands together in a gripping knot even as he hissed her name out.

She shook her head at him as he took another drink, ignoring the way his voice was churning lower and grittier. “What could possibly be in those papers that - ”

“Leave a dead man his secrets, MacKenzie.” It snapped out of him, sharp and staccato. He was abrupt and verging cruel even as he leaned his forehead into the thin skin of one of her wrists, their fingers still tangled up together as he leaned into the scent of her. “Jesus _fuck_ , woman.”

Her hand went near instantly cool and loose in his and he bit his jaw tighter shut in repentant response, silent as he pressed closer and rubbed his forehead into her skin. Her fingers stayed still and loose even as he tightened his own touch, feeling her rings shift with the movement. After a moment of stillness he tested his mouth against the inside of her wrist instead, starting with soft kisses before sucking on the tang of her familiar perfume. Her fingers closed back a mere fraction around his and he felt his lungs start up once again.

“Sorry,” he murmured through kisses onto her forearm, all of them gentle and small. They were quiet but sincere against her skin, like his apology had been.

“It's okay.” It didn't sound entirely convincing but it wasn't really a lie either. Not really. She'd forgive him this, this misstep. He knew her that well, knew the depth of her understanding and how easily she could divine what his reaction to any little thing would probably be. He knew she'd forgive him a hell of a lot. MacKenzie had a reservoir of grace and forgiveness when it came to him, one that had been plunged deeper by her own guilt and self flagellation. He wasn't above plumbing those depths when necessary. But then, he wasn't after intentionally embarrassing her at any given moment either. Well, at least not when it wasn't a little bit funny.

“It was assholic,” he argued, setting the glass down on the floor so that he could use both hands to hold hers. He was busy apologizing and rubbing the backs of her knuckles against his forehead with weariness, too busy to notice that she'd shifted enough to fully face him.

“It's okay.” It only took a subtle shift of her hips and a tug of her hand against his to get him to lean into her, head turning to rest against one of her pelvic bones while his hands both loosened from hers and skimmed down her legs instead. “I know you're an ass. I've been fully aware of it for quite awhile now.”

Will just grinned at the heat of her sass, the sensual familiarity of it matching how well he knew the curve of each calf beneath his palms. “There's room for improvement, you know?”

“There certainly is – the bar for assholes of your caliber is set pretty low to begin with.”

A hot breath of laughter huffed against the fabric of her skirt and he enjoyed the fact that he could pick out the scent of Mac's laundry soap and perfume in combination faster than he could probably ferret out the scent of his own damn aftershave. “I meant your HCG levels.”

Her fingers clenched up into his hair and she tugged his head back onto his shoulders with exaggeration, watching him meet her glance with a half smirk. “Honestly, Billy? I mean, really?”

“I'm saying, you know, they're good...” He trailed off about the same time she lifted her fingers into smoothing his hair back from his forehead, his lungs expelling hard as his eyes fell shut into the touch.

MacKenzie hummed a gentle sigh over how loosely his head lolled back as she wiped against his temples too, one after the other. “You annoy me terribly.”

“But not 'E' for 'Excellent'.” He blithely murmured the continuation as she stroked through his hair, ignoring her commentary with hushed humor. “There's room to improve.”

“I want to go home, Will.”

He shrugged at her lazily. “M'not done.”

“You are for tonight,” she contradicted, nodding down over him despite the fact he was frowning disagreement.

“Mac - ”

“You're done. Pack up. Come on then.”

A nod interrupted her attempt to hurry him, one of his hands waving toward a small stack of papers that had been off his left side. “That pile is for you.”

“I have my own pile?” Her voice pitched up in accent and volume as she gave his hand a tug, being his willing balance as he pushed himself up off the floor. Her hand stayed tucked in his even as he groaned after the echoed cracking of his spine and he tugged her closer with one swift pull.

“I seem to remember you complaining about one when you came in?” Will stretched his spine out, a grunt following a wince and her smile catching him up as she leaned into him.

“But that was the ' _Don't show this to Mac because she's a moralistic prude_ ' pile.” Her voice had softened once again, shoulders thrown back and her hands curling the fabric of his shirt up in fistfuls as she smiled. “What's this one?”

“That's the ' _Mac should have these because she's miraculous_ ' pile.”

A genuinely blissed and blessed smile took over her features, her eyes brightening up as she bit lightly onto her bottom lip and shrugged into nodding. “I feel as though we _are_ a little miraculous right now, you and I. So that's fitting.”

His arms curled up on her tighter, cinched on her waist as he studied the dulled color of the eyes, “You're tired.”

“Mmmm.” Mac nodded slow agreement, fisting up more of his shirt as she leaned forward and into his chest. He lifted his jaw, letting her tuck her head down into his neck and shoulder while he turned his face into her hair.

“C'mere.” He hummed affection against the side of her head, a hand lifting to intentionally get caught up in her hair. “We _really_ need to finish the apartment.”

 

* * *

 

 

He was perennially distracted by how beautiful she was when she was wearing her glasses, near every time he saw her with them on. Watching her speed read the newspaper was something he didn't often get to enjoy anymore and he took advantage of the image, smiling gently as he paused and let his hands go stuffed deeper into his pockets. It was hard enough to get her to relax, and especially on her days off. If having every piece of print news he could manage to track down within the limits of the city brought to his door on a Sunday morning was what it took to get her to highlight half the New York Times in just her glasses, his worn chambray shirt and a pair of tiny pristine white socks …? Fuck, he'd up and buy out every northeast print house himself. _Cash or check?_

“I'd kill for more coffee.” A smile twitched his lips as she murmured it into the morning stillness, annoyance in her tone and a huff coming across her lips shortly after. The television droned a consistent but quiet humming from the other room and he just barely caught the familiar jingling tones of one of the morning shows. Will just shrugged a supposed apology in her direction while studying the way she had her bare legs up to her side and curled together so that her feet were pointed backwards toward the cushions. She looked like she should have been cold, delicate and small and curled up on the austere white sheet that they'd left over top of the indecently expensive leather couch.

Ultimately, it was a hint for him to get her coffee and he knew as much. But if she was saying 'more' than she'd already had one cup, at the least. Which was already one cup more than he was inclined to let her have during pregnancy. Or, rather, it had been. Until she'd dumped at least fourteen articles on his desk regarding the caloric intake of pregnant women and which foods were/were not allowed – which had also been her way of telling him to shut up until he'd learned a little something.

“What?” The smile on her lips when she looked up was sweeter than expected and laced with warm humor. “You're staring. It's unnerving.”

“When you were on Genoa, I was in the middle of a... a crisis of confidence.” He confessed lightly, the movement of his shrugging shoulder nearly imperceptible. “I was telling strangers that I was amidst a crisis of confidence. You weren't with me.”

There was a flinch on her after he'd said the words and he just smiled at her, trying to soften her perception. It hadn't been an accusation of any sort and he just kept still as she stared at him in speculation, he kept himself docile, hands still tucked calmly in his pockets. Mac just blinked at him and leaned back from the coffee table, dropping the highlighter onto the spread open newspaper. After a slow intake of breath she relaxed back on the couch, letting her shoulders lax back and one hand rest against her rib cage. Just the movement of her fingers, the way she rubbed down her abdomen and over her stomach, _Christ_ , it killed him.

“We weren't together then, no.” Her legs slid against each other as she shifted farther back on the cushion and he was instantly jealous of one getting to touch the other as she stretched out a little. “What could that possibly have to do with any of - ”

“I hate not having you on my side,” Will admitted quietly, still watching the movements of her body as she rubbed gently up and down against her stomach. “I don't mean our banter or whatever you - ”

“It's spirited and witty, our banter.” Her voice held a pert smile, curled up around it warmly. Her voice had pitched more British on the word 'witty' than any other he'd heard from her all morning. It was fucking _adorable_.

Plus, he sorta loved it when she sounded so chippy, so happily sure of herself.

It always made his shoulders lift up in pride.

“It is but I hate it when you're not on my side of things. It reminds me that you're usually the morally superior one.”

Mac just rolled her eyes as she huffed out what was almost a laugh, the breath of it on her lips, “Billy - ”

“You are _miraculous_ , Mac.” Will made sure the sincerity of the sentiment landed loud and right centered between the two of them. He'd made sure to say it with certainty and with a depth of warmth, adoration creeping up on him without censure as he lifted a hand from his pocket and waved between them. “And I like being together on things. I like being ' _Will and Mac_ '. In combination.”

Her whole body seemed to thump back a little deeper into the couch cushions, comfortable despite the crisp white sheet that made everything about her seem more of a dark to pale contrast. Her hair seemed darker but her skin more porcelain and, fuck, she looked utterly dumb-founded. Wasn't often he could manage to leave MacKenzie speechless and he grinned sheepishly when he realized that he'd made her back her knuckles against one of her cheekbones to test the heat of the blush that had risen up on her cheeks.

“I truly don't understand what your concern is right now, Will,” she admitted apologetically, turning her fingertips to touch up the rise of her cheekbone before she tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Will watched how slowly she made the movement, how gently her fingertips moved before she cross both arms back against her body again, curving protectively along her torso.

“I like your voice in my ear. I like having you, _you_ specifically, read my copy. You make stupid little marks and notes in the - ”

“Billy - ”

“I like your office being close to mine instead of floors away,” he followed up rapidly, keeping his momentum as he stepped farther into the room and toward her. “And I don't like Jim's habit of being a mouth breather.”

“A mouth breather?” she laughed out as he sacked onto the couch beside her, the sheet getting rucked up as he scooched lower and let one hand toward her. He dropped his palm loosely into her lap, fingers half curled as he turned his head toward her and laid it back against the couch.

A look of honest chagrin crossed over his features as he slowly exhaled, “He breathes with his mouth open, hon. It's the nerd equivalent of chewing cud in my ear.”

“I've not a fucking clue what you're on about.”

“Listen,” Will caught her hand up into his as she reached for his fingers. “I'm very proud to have unintentionally knocked up the President of Atlantis Cable News but, let's be realistic here?”

“Yes, let's,” she agreed as he pulled at her, letting him draw her closer.

Mac leaned into his reaching, though - and he was surprised by that at first. Still, he appreciated the leaning as she shifted, dropping her legs so that she could completely turn and stretch into his lap. Both his hands went reaching for her hips as she stretched a knee to his side and straddled over him. A sound that mixed between a sigh and a groan escaped his lungs and he caught the way it brought a slip of a smile onto her lips as she caught their hands together. She leaned forward, letting him twist her fingers up in his as she dropped a slow and drawn out kiss onto his mouth. He enjoyed the laziness of it, the way she purposely just dragged it out between sucking on his tongue and nibbling lightly against his bottom lip. By the time she was finished tasting the groan that came up his throat he'd already loosened her hands up just so that he could wrap completely around her.

“Until this kid is born things are still all about me and I don't want you to stop being my EP. I don't want you to be President. For personal reasons,” he explained with bemused warmth, keeping his voice quietly light-hearted as he cuddled her closer and slung his arms around her completely. “That selfish?”

“ _Billy_.”

“I know,” he shrugged into the way her very tone had implied he was being childish.

“It's extremely selfish,” Mac murmured against his cheek, kissing chastely onto morning stubble before she leaned farther into the way he was tucked around her. She lifted her arms onto his shoulders, letting them rest there while her fingers toured through his hair again.

“Spirited and witty?” He smiled as he kissed her, felt the hum of approval she made against his lips as her fingers gripped up in his hair.

It was a slow and languid kiss she tasted off him before she drew her head back. “Rosalind Russell and Cary Grant.”

“So, also in black and white?”

Mac sighed hard in supposed exasperation, her body slumping even farther forward so that he was supporting all her weight – not that there was all that much of it. “I love you anyhow.”

“Anyhow,” he grumped, carefully pulling her glasses from her face before he upped his jaw at her, squinting accusation. “ _Anyhow_?”

“Right. As in - ”

“As in you annoy me, but...?” Will murmured and leaned forward into her, tossing the glasses onto the coffee table as gently as he could.

“Exactly,” she exhaled, her hand catching up through his hair to keep them closely hugged up together.

So he took advantage of the proximity, kissed against her cheek, then down her neck, her throat while he tasted the tang of her leftover perfume and sweat. “Jim's a mouth breather.”

“He is not. Stop it.” There was a certain sway of perfection in the way she threaded through his hair, the movements meant for nothing but affection and adoration and comfort. Nothing but loving in the way she raked her nails up and down the back of his head, lightly scraping his scalp. “This is really upsetting you?”

Upsetting him? Not necessarily.

Driving him slowly insane and chipping at his patience, his confidence, his surety. Sure. Little bit.

“I'm just not sure Will McAvoy can _be_ the 'Great and Powerful' without MacKenzie McHale chirping in his ear.”

Well, and there it was, right?

The real issue he had with her moving up (by floors, literally) and him staying behind.

“I'll still be doing plenty of chirping.” Her arms went loose against his shoulders, the tension out of them as she melted into letting him entirely support her. All her control leaned into his chest and shoulders and he let her sink into him, his palms rounding up along her hips to her waist. “Jim knows you better than you think he does.”

“Jim saying my name doesn't do semi-erotic things to my - ”

“ _Billy_.”

Right, yes. Just like that.

“Exactly,” he rumbled up along her ear, hearing the half snort of laughter she gave up in answer.

“You think I'm not panicking?” MacKenzie asked on a hush. “Hmm?”

He cocked her an incredulous look, one brow up as his hand teased intentionally higher, a surprised little mew of a noise coming off her lips as he pinched on the scar that slashed across her stomach. “I don't think you've ever been scared of anything in your life, Mac.”

Her hands pressed against his, the blue fabric caught up between them as she leaned into his touch and laid both her palms into keeping his hand pressed on her stomach. “Right now, I am absolutely, one hundred percent terrified.”

Will just smiled reflexively, grinning as he spread his fingers out. He hadn't missed the implication, not when she was about as subtle as an anvil to the head. His other hand roved up her waist and curved around her back so that he could keep her balanced in his lap, hands stilling her up where she was. “You know that despite everything I just said, I mean, you know, just because I'd rather – no, point is -”

“Coming up on it soon?” she asked with a teasing up-tone, her accent brightening again with amusement.

“I'm proud of you,” Will finished abruptly, head lifting so that he could lay kisses onto her jaw.

“You just don't want me to do the job I've been given.”

“Yes, that,” he chuckled in agreement, letting her bend her knees so that she could completely settle into his lap. Will shifted his hands, palms skiffing heat against the tops of her thighs as she relaxed her weight on him and leaned forward, her mouth strafing against his cheek.

“Because you'd rather I just said semi-pornographic things in your ear all day long?”

He groaned at the heat of her whisper and the way it crested just in front of his ear. “Not what I said.”

Cheeky little shit. She couldn't help herself, not now that she was absolutely allowed to be his silly MacKenzie once again - the girl that teased his lungs into twisted up knots and made his heart trip up and fall forward. Something about her sweet silliness, her accidental theatrics... they'd always seemed so innocently charming. She'd always been able to stop him still and press the 'Pause' on him living his life.

“And also because Jim breathes too much?”

He gave her a quick glance of reproach. “Spirited and witty, huh?”

Mac just grinned at him, her eyes flicking brighter just before she nodded. “Usually. Seems I haven't had enough coffee yet.”

A full throated laugh came off him in response, her cheekiness a surprise but expected all at once.

“I am _so_ proud of you,” he told her, without question or reservation.

“I know.”


End file.
